


Holding On

by horayytio



Series: Working Title (Pacrim Sux) [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, emo and professor hug it out more at 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horayytio/pseuds/horayytio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His only comfort is the belief that if anyone else was pulled as taut as he is on an hourly basis they would shatter into a billion sobbing, jittery, little pieces.<br/>But he doesn’t shatter.<br/>Usually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On

There’s a lot of stressors when your job is saving the world. 

For starters, you never see it coming. At first, you’re just a kid who likes bugs and little scholastic chemistry sets that you can get at bookfairs, and then you’re a “prodigy” and you’re doing good and making your parents proud and yeah, you’re the weird kid but it’s okay, and then monsters attack and you’re a “genius” and everyone’s looking to you for the answers and placing their life in your hands and you can’t sleep without a pill. And everybody forgets you were only ever a kid who liked bugs. 

Secondly, there’s the disconnect. The feeling of “other.” 

At first it’s dismissal. You may be a brilliant doctor and a powerhouse researcher and tech developer, but your mind is too volatile to drift, so you haven’t ever actually punched a godzilla knockoff in the face, and your ex asks if you’re “actually doing anything cool in that lab.” Dismissal inevitably turns to fear when the jaegers are falling and you stop trying to hide that look on your face that reminds people a little bit of a bomb. So you cover your arms in ink and teeth and blue blood and roll your eyes when your ex tells you that you’ve changed.

_ No shit, Chris. _

Frankly, it’s a lame career choice, saving the world, and Newt swears up and down that when all of this is over he’s going to buy a guitar and play chord progressions on the street for spare change.  _ Fuck _ saving the world. 

His only comfort is the belief that if anyone else was pulled as taut as he is on an hourly basis they would shatter into a billion sobbing, jittery, little pieces. 

But he doesn’t shatter.

Usually. 

Because another problem with saving the world is that if you're determined to save it, and you will be, more determined than you’ve ever been about anything, you’ll forget that your world can be real shitty. And you’re so focused on the next discovery, on finding the next piece to the puzzle, that you’re left vulnerable. You aren’t ready to be hit, because you think that you have the threat in your sights.

All shields down, captain. 

It doesn’t take much to hit you where it hurts, and then it all comes flooding in.

.

And that is how Dr. Newton Geiszler, esteemed scientist, finds himself curled up in the lab, bawling.

It’s stupid really, and he’s telling himself that he should be able to brush it off because it’s  _ stupid _ but  _ fuck _ , man, that was a low blow. 

He’s wasting time, and he needs to get back to work-  _ god damn it Newt get back to work _ \- but that just makes him feel weaker and he’s just a shell, a husk that’s only good for crying and nothing else. 

Why would anyone trust him with saving the world? If he can’t handle an asshole or two on the way to work, why trust him with  _ anything _ ?

This line of thought isn’t making him feel any better, and neither are the fingernails that he’s digging into his forearms, but he doubts he can feel much worse. 

He shifts a little bit, resting his head against the cool metal of the filing cabinet and pausing for a breath because he was feeling dizzy and boy would it be embarrassing if someone found him passed out on the floor of his lab with mucus drying on his face. 

On second thought, maybe no one would care. 

That’s about to start him spinning again when he hears familiarly off-tempo footsteps coming down the hallway, and freezes. 

Fuck.

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _ .

He fumbles to stand, turning to face the wall while he scrubs his face with his sleeve. There’s suddenly an icy hand on his heart; a cocktail of shame and anxiety in being discovered when he’s vulnerable ( _ weak _ ). 

Sure enough, Hermann bursts through the door a moment later, already riled up about something that Newt did or that he’s blaming Newt for and Newt can  _ hear _ him gesticulating with his hands, or his cane, or whatever is in reach. Hermann has a one track mind, and that mind has decided that it is Yelling Time. 

At any other time, Newt would desperately grab at the opportunity to practice the only form of stress relief that he knows- yelling back. Right now, all he can think is;  _ Please don’t let him notice. Please.  _

“- did this in front of the  _ Marshal _ , no less! The sheer lack of  _ professionalism _ and- Dr. Geiszler?” Newt stiffens. The hand on his heart clenches. “Are you even listening to me?”

_ Fuck. _

Newt wills his voice to be steady. 

“Fuck off, Hermann.” 

It doesn’t work. 

Surprisingly, Hermann doesn’t rise to the bait. He also doesn’t laugh. His footsteps stop their pacing rampage.

“Are you alright?” The mathematician's voice is soft. If Newt didn’t know any better, he’d say it was  _ concerned _ . He hears those same footsteps clicking towards him. “Turn around.”

Newt considers his options. Turn around and expose himself to the one person he wants to impress the most, or delay the inevitable.

He turns around.  

Hermann’s eyes widen. “Good  _ God _ , Newton, have you been  _ crying _ ?”

“No.” Newt croaks, trying to appear nonchalant, even as his bottom lip trembles. “I just have a c-cold. I’m fine.”

Hermann glares. “You are  _ not _ fine.”

“Listen, Herms, I appreciate the concern-”

“You are  _ not _ fine,” Hermann’s eye’s narrow, the grip on his cane tightens. “and you will stop pretending to  _ be  _ fine so that I may find what, or  _ who, _ made you  _ un-fine _ and demonstrate how  _ little _ I appreciate them compromising the emotional security of my lab partner.”

The outburst is unexpected, and Newt wants to say something to brush it off- “ _ I didn’t know you cared _ .”, or maybe _ “‘Un-fine? Nice word choice.” _ \- but all that he forces out of his throat is a mumbled “...it’s stupid.”

“I can assure you,” Hermann replies, eyebrows furrowed deeply, “that it is not.”

There is a moment of silence wherein two stubborn people refuse to back down, until Newt starts talking. Before he can stop himself, he’s spilling the whole story. He’s hiccuping and his cheeks are patchy and there are tears are spilling off of his chin and onto his shirt but he can’t  _ stop _ and he never thought that he would bare his soul to Hermann Gottlieb. 

But Hermann is there. He’s listening. He’s  _ moved _ . 

So Newt starts from the beginning. 

Actually, he starts in the middle, from an overheard conversation in the mess hall (“ _ That’s Dr. Geizler _ ?  _ That weirdo over there? Sitting alone? God, I heard he was a freak, I wasn’t expecting a  _ pathetic _ freak. What’s with the tattoos?” _ ), but then he’s going back to the beginning, back to breaking up with Chris (“ _ You’ve changed.” _ ) and all of the pain and wondering that came with it ( _ What? What is it? What’s changed? What’s wrong with me? _ ), and then he’s jumping to now, to running into the lab and it all being  _ too much _ and he’s not working  _ hard enough _ and it all  _ hurts  _ and why does it have to be  _ him _ ? Why fucking  _ him _ ? 

After  _ hours _ (minutes, really, but give him a break, life sucks right now), he’s finally finished. He feels drunk, floating, so tired of being sad that it almost feels like a high. Sometime in the past he and Hermann had shifted to sit on the ground, which wasn’t graceful for either of them, and is probably wreaking  _ havoc _ on Hermann’s leg, but all that Newt can focus on is the steady warmth emanating from Hermann’s shoulder, which is pressed against his. 

He turns, waiting for the sting of Hermann’s next sentence, not wanting to prolong the inevitable rejection that is sure to come. 

Instead, he is met with concerned eyes. 

“Newton,” Hermann says, steadily and suddenly, “I respect you more than anyone that I have ever known.” 

Newt blinks, confused. “Thank you?” 

“You are welcome.” Hermann is unblinking. “Additionally, I would like the names of the halfwits that were so openly insulting to you in the cafeteria.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“A general description will do, if you cannot recall a name.”

“Hermann, if you’re implying that you’re going to seek sweet revenge on a couple of kids for being mean to m-”

“There is no implication, Newton.” Hermann says, projecting a cool determination that seems out of place on the face of someone wearing a tweed jacket. “You are a brilliant scientist, a valuable asset to the Hong Kong Shatterdome, a brave man, an individualist in the greatest sense, and-” he pauses, stuttering “-and you are my friend. If you are not going to seek ‘sweet revenge’, as you put it, then I most certainly am.” 

Newt can’t do much but stare. For all that Hermann’s speech was halting and formally worded, it was genuine. Beyond the fights, and the stiffness, and the  _ tweed _ , there is someone that cares about Newt. Someone who is willing to  _ fight  _ for Newt. 

Newt sniffs, blinking furiously.  _ Don’t cry, dammit.  _ He stares at the wall, willing himself to hold in his tears, before turning back to face Hermann. He can’t imagine what he looks like right now, face smeared with tears and god-knows-what, eyes a puffy red. 

Hermann stares at him for a moment, his face indecipherable, before reaching into his pocket and handing a scrap of cloth to Newt.  

It’s an honest-to-god handkerchief. 

It is a neatly pressed white cloth with a cleanly embroidered H.G in the lower left corner, ironed with care and given as a simple gesture of comfort and it is so astoundingly  _ Hermann _ that Newt finds himself giggling. 

“Newton?” Hermann turns to look at him, eyes wide and concern evident in his face and Newt is powerless to stop himself from scooting the inch necessary to close his arms around Hermann in a hug. 

Hermann immediately stiffens. “Newton? Is something wrong?”

There is rough fabric tickling Newt’s cheek (it’s a bit like hugging a couch) but Hermann’s so  _ worried _ and something forms in Newt's chest, bubbling up his throat like sunlight, and he gives in, laughing unabashedly as Hermann slowly relaxes. “You gave me a handkerchief!” He grins, reveling in it. “You listened to me and then you gave me a handkerchief!”

Hermann sighs, slowly running his hand up and down Newt’s back. When he speaks, his chin is rested on Newt’s head. “My dear boy, I do believe you're hysterical.”

Newt shakes with laughter, and holds on. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have noticed that Newt and Hermann's relationship is clearly undefined here, that is good- It was purposeful. I don't mean it to be frustrating, it's just that this fic takes place in the middle of the arch that I have set up for Newt and Hermann. Could their relationship be interpreted as platonic? Yes. Could it be interpreted as romantic? Absolutely. What is the word that can actually be used to describe their relationship? The only one I can think of would be "developing".
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Have a wonderful day!


End file.
